


absence makes the heart grow fonder

by thequeenvic



Category: Voltron: Legendary Defender
Genre: Allura & Keith (Voltron) Friendship, Alternate Universe - Robin Hood Fusion, M/M, Minor Violence, Mutual Pining, Slow Burn Keith/Lance (Voltron), it's what they deserve, that's the intention, there is a lot of platonic kallura in this
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-12-31
Updated: 2020-07-25
Packaged: 2021-02-19 07:36:53
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 4
Words: 11,228
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22040791
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/thequeenvic/pseuds/thequeenvic
Summary: The images of starving children mixes with the flashes of bloody swords and dead men, making it hard to breathe. Keith presses his palms to his eyes. “Happy thoughts,” he mutters. “Happy thoughts.”And suddenly, there it is. There he is. Smiling, laughing, loving. Love. Keith remembered the feeling. Love was warm and overwhelming, heartbreaking and beautiful. Keith remembered summer, evenings in the courtyard, stolen moments when no one was watching. Archery competitions, a teasing voice in his ear, soft lips on his knuckles.or, Robin Hood AU
Relationships: Adam/Shiro (Voltron), Keith/Lance (Voltron)
Comments: 8
Kudos: 50





	1. Keith

**Author's Note:**

> i've had this idea in my head for months now, and now that i've gone over it with a friend i'm finally ready to do something with it!
> 
> now, i am not that well acquainted with robin hood lore, my main knowledge and inspiration comes from the disney movie, even if i've tried to do some research on my own and intend to read some of the stories eventually. i am also not a native english speaker and unfamiliar with english geography etc., so please don't take offense if i get something wrong - i promise it's unintentional.
> 
> i also haven't watched the show in a while, so i've tried to capture the characters and relationships as well as i can.
> 
> other than that, i hope some of you enjoy this! x
> 
> NB: the title comes from the 1973 disney film

_Swords are clashing_

_Men are screaming_

_Horses are dying_

_There’s blood, blood everywhere_

_There’s a man in a helmet, his shield is broken_

Keith jolts awake, his scream dying in his throat. He looks around frantically, not registering where he is. He’s in a tent of some kind and his side hurts. He’s sweating.

He jumps when the curtain is pulled to the side and a man with a worried expression looks in. “You alright, Keith?”

Finally, recognition settles in. The man in front of him is Shiro; the hurt in his side is from a slashing wound; he’s back in England; he’s in Sherwood Forest, just outside of Nottingham; his new name is Robin Hood.

Keith exhales and nods slowly. “Yeah, yeah, it was just a bad dream.”

Shiro nods, but the worried crease in his brow remains. “You’ve had a lot of those recently.”

He’s right. Keith has woken up from nightmares almost every night for the past two weeks, all depicting the same thing: a battlefield covered in bodies and misery. Keith’s experience of the war was short lived, since he was injured early on and sent back to England, the field hospital didn’t have room for a man as well off as he was. But however small, the time he had spent there had left lasting images on the inside of his eyelids.

Keith is well aware that he owes King Alfor his life. Another king could have demanded that he keep fighting, and he would have been within his rights to do so. But King Alfor had looked at the young knight and the wound on his belly - not that deep, but it was causing him pain daily - and decided that it was better that he was sent home and was replaced with another, well man. That was part of the reason why he was currently living in a tent in a forest known to be dangerous and treacherous and with a price on his head.

One of the other reasons was Princess Allura. When Keith had arrived at Nottingham, he had heard that the Princess had vanished the night before she was meant to be executed. Now, she is in the tent next to his, most likely just barely asleep. From what Keith has gathered, she hasn’t slept much since she got here.

“I’ll be fine,” he tells Shiro. “They’re just dreams, aren’t they?”

“I suppose so,” Shiro says, but Keith knows him well enough by now to know that he isn’t going to stop worrying even after he’s dropped the curtain. But that’s not something he can do anything about, he can only control his own emotions. Which he isn’t always the best at, if he’s being honest with himself.

Shiro leaves and Keith lays down again. He doesn’t quite know what time it is, but it’s still dark outside, so he should be able to get a few more hours of sleep before he’s woken up to the smell of whatever breakfast Adam has managed to cook for them - hopefully not burnt.

Keith closes his eyes, tries not to think about the scenes that flashed by in his dream. He’s seen them so many times that he can almost anticipate what’s coming next. Almost. Even though he knows, the visions shock him, haunt him, and he doesn’t know how to make it stop. He’s too proud to ask for help, and besides, there’s more important things to focus on at the moment. Overthrow Prince Zarkon and reestablish King Alfor as the rightful King, for one.

Of all the things Keith had expected to find in England, a new king had not been one of them. He had also not expected to find the poor even worse off than before. In the first town he had gone through on his way back to Nottingham, children and elders that were only skin and bone had lined the streets, and when Keith had asked a woman why this was, he’d found out the awful truth: King Alfor’s brother, Prince Zarkon, had taken his brother’s throne and, among other horrendous things, raised taxes to a level that the people couldn’t pay.

Keith himself had never been very badly off. Sure, he didn’t come from a rich family, but he and his father had never had to starve, and he’d been sent of to work as a Page at age seven, and after that the knight he worked for had provided him with food and shelter and training. But he had always felt for the poor, recognised their struggles and tried to help in any way he could, even if it only were giving whatever money he had to a starving family. Now, he did more than just giving his own money.

Robin Hood, legendary outlaw that steals from the rich to feed the poor. That was him now. He’d taken on the new name when he was stripped of his knight title and banished, after his loud protests against the new order had reached Prince Zarkon. He had made his way up the country, leaving the story behind wherever he went: Robin Hood helps those in need, he’ll stop the new, wicked king. When he’d reached Nottingham, they already knew his name. Princess Allura had greeted him as Robin - she calls him Keith now.

The images of starving children mixes with the flashes of bloody swords and dead men, making it hard to breathe. Keith presses his palms to his eyes. “Happy thoughts,” he mutters. “Happy thoughts.”

And suddenly, there it is. There he is. Smiling, laughing, loving. Love. Keith remembered the feeling. Love was warm and overwhelming, heartbreaking and beautiful. Keith remembered summer, evenings in the courtyard, stolen moments when no one was watching. Archery competitions, a teasing voice in his ear, soft lips on his knuckles.

The happiness of those memories lasts for a while. Then, they turn painful. Too painful. He remembers tears, feels the pressure of hands not wanting to let go and he hears a whisper. _You have to promise to come back to me_. He presses his palms harder to his eyes, desperately trying to make the pain go away, silently begging for the ache in his chest to disappear.

Eventually, much later, sleep gets hold of him. He slips into a dreamless void where there are no whispers, no screams, no pain. He’d probably be happy there.

*

The next morning, Keith is the last one to wake up. When he steps out of his tent, temporarily blinded by the morning sun, he sees the rest of the Merry Men sitting together around the fire, eating the stew Adam cooked together. It isn’t burnt.

The mood around the fire is cheerful. James and Ryan are sharpening their swords, chatting away about whatever-else while gulping down the stew in between sentences. Romelle is untangling some knots in Nadia’s hair, trying her best to not make her yelp in pain. Adam is sitting by himself, reading a book Shiro stole from the Sheriff for him. Pidge is showing off her newest invention to Zethrid and Ina. Acxa, Matt and Ezor are engaged in conversation, Keith can’t quite grasp what they’re talking about and he doesn’t really care.

The only ones missing from breakfast are Shiro and Allura, which isn’t unusal. Keith glances over at Allura’s tent, where they’re no doubt already discussing strategies and how to move forward. Keith should be in there with them. After all, he’s the face of the Merry Men, even if he didn’t intend to be.

From the moment news had spread about Robin Hood’s arrival in Nottingham and that he had joined the Merry Men, the people treated him as the leader. Keith felt it was unfair, since Shiro and Allura were the actual leaders and they did their job well. He could see the future ruler that Allura would be, when her time came, and it made him even more convinced to restore King Alfor on the throne. If not for right now, then for times to come.

But for now, she is a princess in exile. They are all under strict orders to not tell anyone that the Princess has joined the Merry Men, all in the name of her protection. So, even if she wanted to, she couldn’t proclaim herself their leader. Keith knew how much it bothered her, not being able to do more to help. He couldn’t blame her, he’d probably be even more restless than her if he was in her situation.

Keith takes another look at the crew surrounding the fire. They’re all from different backgrounds, even if poverty is prevalent in most of them. At one point or another, they decided to dedicate their lives to fight on behalf of the less fortunate, for the hope of a better future for all. It’s an odd collection of people, they probably wouldn’t have sought each other out outside of these circumstances. That doesn’t really matter, though. They’re loyal to each other, sticking together even during the toughest moments.

Keith scrapes the last bits of the stew out of his bowl before standing up and heading into Allura’s tent. That’s where he’s supposed to be, he knows it. He has a hard time fitting in with the others, even if there are moments where they all seem to get along quite well.

Shiro smiles at him when he enters. “There you are. I thought you were going to sleep all day.”

Keith chuckles and rolls his eyes. “You’re funny. Ever thought about doing comedy professionally?”

“I don’t think I’d be very good, to be honest,” Shiro smirks playfully. He always managed to make Keith feel at ease, which not many people could. He was grateful to Shiro, he’d given him a home when he returned to nothing. 

Keith hadn’t really given much thought to how he’d get by once he reached Nottingham, so it was truly a blessing when he found Shiro mostly by chance. The two went way back, Shiro had been a Squire when Keith was a Page and he had acted as an older brother to the young boy. Keith hadn’t really handled it well when Shiro lost his arm in a freak accident and was forced to leave his position. He’d begged to come with Shiro wherever he went, but Shiro had convinced him to stay and finish his quest towards knighthood. Keith had stayed true to his word.

Allura clears her throat, turning the two men’s attention to her. “We weren’t quite finished here,” she says, trying to sound apologetic, but Keith knows how she hates getting interrupted, especially if she’s talking about something important.

“Forgive me.” Shiro nods his head in apology. “You were saying?”

“Thank you.” Allura smiles. She has a kind smile, Keith thinks. “I think it’s good that you hear this too, Keith,” she continues. “So you’ll be more careful from now on. We were going to tell the others soon, too.”

Her words makes Keith frown. “What’s happened?”

“My uncle has brought in more guards from the south,” Allura sighs. “That means more patrols on the streets and even less blind spots from the castle walls. So, we have to be careful when he carry out operations now.”

“How did you find out about this?”

“Matt sneaked into town last night. Heard it from some of the locals.”

Keith nods. That wasn’t good. “Still no word on if your uncle is planning to send men into the Forest?”

“Not from what I’ve heard,” Allura says. “But you never really know.”

She was right. All the information about what was happening in Nottingham and inside the castle walls, they got from residents who were willing to share whatever information they had. Not everyone wanted to take that risk, and Keith couldn’t blame them. Most ordinary people in Nottingham didn’t have much, so expecting them to risk whatever they had in order to help them was a lot to ask.

“I’ll find some way to work around it,” he says. “I always do.”

“I know you do.” Allura looks at him, her eyes stern and focused. “Just be careful. We cannot afford to lose you.”


	2. Lance

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Lance receives some news and has an idea.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> hello everyone! i'd just like to say thank you to everyone who's read this story so far, it really does mean a lot! i'm trying to keep up my creative energy at the moment, since i'll be going back to uni soon which means i won't have as much time to update, but i'll do my best!
> 
> anyway, i couldn't pass up the opportunity to have lance's actual name be lancelot, like, it was right there so let me have this please. other than that, i hope you enjoy this chapter! xx
> 
> NB: the title comes from the 1973 disney film

_Music fills the air, lutes and vielles in sweet harmony_

_A boy is dancing, hidden away in the shadows_

_He is out of sync, he gets all the steps wrong_

_A boy is laughing, content and happy and ignorant_

The strings vibrate under Lance’s fingers as he plays them, letting his imagination take control of what the lute plays. The melody is melancholy and somehow cheerful at the same time, Lance often wonders how that can be. Although it matches his own emotions quite well.

He sits on the sill of the open window in his chambers, looking out over the village as he plays. From here, he can see the main street and its activities. People hurrying about, chatting and bargaining and going about their everyday lives. He sees women leave the butcher’s with tiny bundles of meat that they’ll turn into food for their families. He sees the blacksmith when he comes out for air, his body covered in soot and ash. He sees three children by the fountain, performing a musical number with an upside-down hat in front of them. Barely anyone gives them a second look.

Lance knows that things weren't perfect under his Godfather’s rule. However, they hadn’t been this bad. He knew Alfor; he was compassionate and kind, he didn’t want to impose unnecessary suffering on his subjects. Lance respected him for it.

But now, Alfor is gone. Allura too. And left in their place is Zarkon, who has little empathy for those beneath him and a greedy heart. The atmosphere around the castle has changed, especially since Allura disappeared. The servants are terrified, Lance can see it clearly in their eyes. Terrified of doing something wrong and getting punished for it. They keep their eyes to the floor when they can to avoid offending the new sovereign, take detours so the risk of coming across him are smaller, barely have the courage to speak to each other when outside of the servant’s quarters.

It has been almost two years of this now. Almost that long with no one but Hunk for company. Of course, it could be worse, Lance thinks. Hunk is a good friend and they’ve known each other for almost ten years at this point. He knows more about Lance than almost anyone, including Allura.

Allura. Lance’s heart aches at the thought of her. His oldest friend in the world, the one person he’d assumed would a constant in his life, his sister in everything but blood. Gone from her cell the night before her execution without any trace that could point to where she was going. That was the point, of course, Lance knew that. He’d rather have her alive somewhere safe than dead and six feet under ground. But that did not mean that he didn’t miss her every day, worried about her every day. If he could just find out where she was, he’d probably sleep better at night.

Lance shifts his fingers on the strings, tries to find another melody. It takes a little while, but eventually he finds a rhythm he’s content with, chords that blend together into a melody that makes him think about the times before this all happened. Before Alfor left for war, before Zarkon usurped his throne, before Allura disappeared. A simpler time, when his worries didn’t consume him. A simpler time, when he was happy.

There’s a knock on the door. Lance stops playing and looks towards the door as Hunk walks in. “I’m sorry to disturb you,” he says, “but he’s asked to see you.”

Lance sighs, closes his eyes. He doesn’t want to go down, but he has a part to play. And when the King asks for you, you go to him. He puts his lute to the side and stands up, straightens his back. “Well then. Let’s get it over with, shall we?”

Hunk nods and holds the door open for Lance to go through, then following just behind him as they walk in silence towards the throne room. If this had been a more joyful occasion, they would probably chat as they walked. Hunk would say something slightly crude and Lance would laugh. But that was long ago now.

The throne room is chilly, Lance had always thought so. Except when parties were held, then it would be warm and bright and almost alive. Now, there are no parties held here. Not since the coronation.

The two thrones are placed in the far back of the room, on a platform raised from the floor to allow the sovereigns to see everything, even when seated. Its secondary purpose was to remind whoever stood before it that they were beneath those sitting on the thrones. The Queen’s throne had been empty since Allura’s mother died years ago, and it was empty now.

On the King’s throne, however, sits a figure. Prince Zarkon is much taller than his brother, his shoulders are wider, his body more muscular, a nasty scar covering his left cheek. There aren’t many similarities between the two, yet somehow they’re alike enough that Lance can tell that they’re blood. He sits on the throne with his back straight, like he belongs there. The anger spreads through Lance’s body like wildfire, but he suppresses it. He knows better than to give in to his emotions that easily.

“Your Grace." He bows. “You summoned me.”

“I did,” Zarkon says, his voice dark and unfeeling. “I wanted to ask you if Princess Allura has tried to make any contact with you.”

This again. Lance bites back a witty comment and replies calmly, “no, she hasn’t. I haven’t heard from her at all. You know I would tell you if I did. I wouldn’t hide something like that from you.” Almost every time he was summoned, he was asked this question, and he always gave the same answer.

“So you’ve told me.” Zarkon’s dark eyes examine Lance and he has to use all of his self control to not look down or away. Any small sign that he might be hiding something and he’d be sleeping in the dungeon. “But one can never be too sure. You are my brother’s ward, after all.”

“I am, Your Grace.” Lance nods. “But I am not loyal to him. You are the rightful King of England. Like King Arthur himself.” The words feel like poison in his mouth, but he says them anyway.

At the mention of King Arthur, a pleased smile stretches across Zarkon’s face. “Just like King Arthur,” he agrees. “You’re a clever boy, Lord Lancelot. I’m very pleased that you know what’s best for England. It’s a good quality.”

“Thank you, Sire.” Lance bow his head, thankful for not having to look at the man in front of him even if just for a short second. Playing pretend is difficult, but he’s had two years worth of practice.

“I also called you here to tell you that my son, Prince Lotor, will be coming to Nottingham in a few days time,” Zarkon continues, chuckling a little when Lance can’t stop the shock from reaching his face in time. “I know. It’s been many years since he was here last. He’s been in Ireland, but is finally returning to take his place by my side. A future King must be taught how to rule, mustn’t he?”

Lance quickly reclaims his composure and nods. “Very true, Your Grace. I’m sure that with your guidance, Prince Lotor will be a fine King.”

“Thank you. I would like it if you joined me for supper this evening,” Zarkon says. “Other than that, you are dismissed.”

Lance nods again. “Very well, Sire. I will see you at supper.” He bows before turning on his heel and walking out of the throne room, Hunk following closely behind him.

“Could you fetch my bow and arrows, please?” Lance says, letting his annoyance slip through. “And meet me on the training grounds?”

“Of course,” Hunk says and darts off. He’s been through this routine before, so he knows to hurry.

Lance walks at a fast pace through the corridors, out into the courtyard and towards the training grounds. It’s currently empty, the knights and guards that are stationed at the castle are either on duty or somewhere else, probably the village pub. That suits Lance just fine, it means he can exist without the facade for a little while.

He doesn’t have to wait long for Hunk to show up with his bow. It’s an old one, but it was a gift so Lance has kept it in peak condition. The arrows are newer, though, since they tend to break or disappear after a while. Lance takes the bow from Hunk and marches over to the targets that are lined up side by side. He loads an arrow, takes aim at the target furthest to the left and releases. Bullseye.

He starts walking sideways, loading arrows as he goes. Bullseye, bullseye, bullseye. With each target, he gets angrier. Angry at Zarkon for ruining his life. Angry at Alfor for allowing it to happen by going away. Angry at Allura for leaving him behind. Angry at … no, he isn’t going to think about him right now. Too painful.

Lance hates having to pretend in front of Zarkon. He hates acting like he’s on his side, like he supports his policies and treatment of the people. He sees their suffering from his window every day, he always has. He’s never been blind to the fact that he’s much better off than most people, so seeing them treated even worse and having to stand by the man responsible is revolting to even think about.

But it’s either that or death, and Lance values his life too much to risk it. He knows he’s a coward, he knows he isn’t brave like Allura was. Allura had loudly protested against Zarkon’s takeover and she had been willing, even prepared, to die rather than be silenced. Lance had never found that kind of courage.

Desperate to keep Allura safe, he had urged her to stay silent, tried to tell her that she’d be more useful to her people if she was alive and visible. But Allura was - is - a flame too strong to contain. Not speaking out had been unthinkable to her, so she’d landed herself in a cell waiting for the gallows.

Had Lance joined her in her protests? Had he spoken out against the tyrant? No. Instead he’d pledged his loyalty to the new King, even though the thought still repulses him. He’d said that he’d never felt cared for by Alfor - lie. That he had never thought of him as a good king - lie. That he had been secretly hoping that Zarkon would one day take the throne - all lies. Lies to secure his position, keep himself safe. He hates himself for it.

“So…” Hunk speaks up, ripping Lance back to reality. He’s hit the bullseye on all targets. “Lotor’s coming back.”

At that reminder, Lance groans. “As if I need another problem right now.”

Lance and Prince Lotor had never gotten along. Not that he’d spent much time with Allura’s cousin growing up, but whatever time they had spent together hadn’t been very joyful. Lotor was proud, ambitious and an extreme perfectionist, which didn’t translate well into children’s play. He had always declared himself the leader of whatever game they were playing, decided all the rules and had a peculiar way of pushing exactly all of Lance’s buttons, which had landed Lance in trouble with Alfor more than once.

He hadn’t seen Lotor since he was seventeen, just before Lotor left to explore Ireland. If he had allowed himself to, Lance would probably have found Lotor quite attractive. He was tall, his facial features sharp and his long, white hair was always beautifully braided down his back. But he still wore a cocky smirk, his dark eyes were always just too cold for Lance to feel comfortable around him, so he’d been glad to see him go.

Lance loads another arrow and releases it, hitting just above where the other arrow pierced the target. “Why can’t things go my way for once?”

“I wish I knew,” Hunk replies calmly. Lance is grateful for him, he is almost always close to laughter and can often keep his head cool when Lance can't. It helps Lance stay grounded.

“If I only knew where Allura was,” he sighs. “If I knew how to reach her. Or if I knew a way to actually be helpful instead of just walking around here like a coward, doing nothing.”

He looks over at Hunk, whose eyes are full of empathy. “You’re not a coward for keeping yourself safe, Lance.”

They’ve had this conversation before, and Hunk has always been of the opinion that Lance isn’t quite so horrible as he thinks he is. “I’d be more worried about you if you weren’t critical of yourself,” he says. “That means you haven’t adapted any of his opinions.”

“But I still represent them by not speaking up,” Lance says. “The people think I’ve abandoned them, that I’ve stabbed my Godfather in the back by siding with his brother.”

“Then let them!” Hunk exclaims. “If you want to make a difference and change their minds, start doing something instead of moping around like you’ve been doing for the past two years! Gather information, sabotage, put too much salt on his food, anything!”

The sudden outburst shocks Lance a little. When he opens his mouth to respond, nothing comes out. He just stares at his valet, at the unfamiliar angry crease of his brow and the fire in his eyes that he’s only ever seen a few times, when they weren’t directed at him. “I- I’m … I’m sorry,” he mumbles, tapping the bow with his fingers. “I just feel helpless, I guess.”

“I know you do,” Hunk says, starting to calm down. “But you have to stop feeling sorry for yourself. Helpless is one thing, self pity is different.”

Lance looks at Hunk. When he started his position when they were both 15, he would never have spoken to Lance in this manner, this honestly. In the beginning, he only spoke in short sentences and ended them all with “My lord”. Lance is honestly happy that he doesn’t do that anymore, at least when they’re alone. It makes him feel like they’re friends, not like he is Hunk’s employer.

“You’re right,” he says as an idea starts forming in his head. The excitement must shine through to his face, because Hunk’s eyes brighten at once.

“What are you thinking?”

“Could you go to the market for me tomorrow?” Before Lance has a chance to elaborate, he hears footsteps and turns around.

The Sheriff of Nottingham himself is visiting, it seems. If it weren’t for his eye catching clothing, Lance could still spot him anywhere due to his ridiculous sideburns. If Lotor was attractive, Sendak was his opposite. A bulky face, a large beard and an eyepatch did not make a pretty match. Add to that his disgusting personality and enjoyment of suffering, he was just under Zarkon on Lance’s list of people he didn’t like.

The Sheriff spotts the two young men and decides to take a detour. “Hello, Lord Lancelot.” He doesn’t give Hunk a second glance, Lance isn’t expecting him to. “Practising, I see.” He takes a look at the archery targets. “Impressive. You might take on Robin Hood on his good days.”

Lance raises an eyebrow. “Is that so?” He’s heard the stories, of course he has. Robin Hood and his Merry Men, the leaders of the rebellion against Prince Zarkon. The archer himself seems to be the stuff of legend, if you’re to believe what people are saying. “I thought you would have caught him by now.”

Hunk throws a glance Lance’s way, the corner of his lips pulling slightly upward at the comment, which has its desired effect; the Sheriff’s face reddens and his body tenses. “We’re on his tail, My lord. He and his band of criminals won’t be safe in Sherwood Forest much longer.”

“No?” Lance tries to pry, hopes the Sheriff won't see through him.

“You wait and see, My lord,” Sendak promises. “I’ll see them all hanged if it’s the last thing I do.”

“Well, that’s reassuring.” An uncomfortable shiver goes down Lance’s spine. “I won’t keep you any longer. Come on Hunk, the Sheriff must be busy. Good day, Sheriff.” He walks off with Hunk to his chambers, leaving Sendak without waiting for a response.

“You said I should go to the market,” Hunk says once the door is shut behind them. “What for?”

“Go to the blacksmith and see if he can get some arrowheads for me,” Lance says, sitting down by his desk. “And get some bread from the baker’s, you know the one I like. While you’re there, try to find out if anyone knows anything. They might not talk about it with you around, but it’s worth a try.”

Hunk smiles. “I haven’t heard you say anything so true in months.”

Lance smiles back, the first truly genuine smile he’s presented in a while. The nagging voice in the back of his head says that he’s too late, why did he wait this long to do anything, nothing good will come of this, this is going to get him killed. He ignores it. He’s finally doing something, and that’s worth smiling about.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> thank you for reading!! x


	3. Chapter 3: Keith

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Keith gets into trouble.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> long time no see! went back to uni and had a lot to do right away, so that's why it took so long to update! not super happy with this chapter as a whole, but it got better the further in i got.
> 
> i'm going to issue a blood tw, just so you're all aware of that going in! other than that, hope you all enjoy this chapter!

“Thank you so much, Robin Hood.” The mother won’t let go of Keith’s hands. She has a toddler strapped to her back and it looks like she could use several days of sleep. Around them, four more children are running around, screaming and fighting. Keith doesn’t envy her.

“I wish I could do more,” he tells her. The pouch he’s brought her isn’t as full as he wanted it to be, he knows she needs more to make ends meet, especially since the army subsidies were cut off two months ago. Keith had no idea how she did it, how she managed to find any income at all with her husband still at war and no one to watch her children for her.

The woman just shakes her head. “This is more than I ever could have asked for. Just be careful now, yeah? They’re looking for you day and night.”

Keith nods. “I know. But they haven’t caught me yet, and I want it to stay that way.” He cringes when a high pitched scream pierces the room, coming from the youngest girl. She seems to have fallen over and is screaming bloody murder over it.

Her mother looks defeated and tired. “Darling, it’s alright.” She hurries over and tries to make the girl stop crying, although nothing seems to work.

None of the other children seem to be paying much attention to their sister, they’re already running around again. When he runs by, Keith grabs the oldest by the arm. He guesses that the boy isn’t older than ten. “Hey,” he says, kneeling down so they’re at eye level. “Listen to me for a minute, alright?” The boy just nods, he looks a little scared.

“Your mother can’t look after all of you all alone,” Keith explains, trying to keep his voice steady and not overly cross. He’s never been particularly good with children. “So, that means she needs help. Since you’re the oldest, I think you’re the best person for the job.” 

The boy looks like he wants to protest, but Keith keeps going. “You’d be doing me a favour. If you were to help your mother keep things orderly here, I’d be really thankful to you.” He knows that he has some status among the children in the village, so using that to his advantage can’t hurt, right?

In any case, it seems to be working. “Uh- um- su- sure, Mister Robin Hood,” the boy stutters. “Wh- what should I do?”

“Ask your mother what she needs help with,” Keith explains. “Maybe she needs something from the market or someone to look after the kids for a little while. Just little things, but I promise you it’ll be a big help and I’ll be thankful for it.” Asking a child this age to take on responsibilities like this feels wrong, but it’s the only idea he can think of that will help the mother.

He tries a smile, and gets a smile from the boy in return. “I won’t let you down, Mister.”

“Good,” Keith says. “Now, I have to go, but I’ll stop by again soon, alright? Promise to keep things running while I’m gone?” He holds out his hand.

The boy eagerly shakes it. “I promise.”

Keith leaves the house with his hood up and only after assuring himself that the street isn’t being patrolled. Matt’s intel had been correct, the village had been crawling with guards for the past three days. Allura had tried to convince him not to leave the Forest today, but he had money to distribute and doing nothing made his skin crawl.

As he turns a corner onto a different street, he sees the village pub across the street. If this had been two years ago, he probably would’ve gone inside and paid for a pint or two, but going in there today was equated with a death sentence. The place had been basically taken over by Zarkon’s soldiers, the only villagers that went in there now were the drunks, who never really left to begin with.

Feelings of nostalgia wash over Keith. He remembers evenings spent there, the memories he formed. The laughter over a pint, dances that lasted all night, kisses stolen in the dark. Keith’s heart sinks a little as he looks over at the little alley next to the pub. That’s where it first happened, he remembers it as clearly as if it was yesterday, not six years ago. He can still sense the tension in the air, smell the alcoholic breath, feel the pressure of lips pressed to his own.

Before he’s allowed to reminisce further, the door opens and two soldiers walk out. They’re a little under the influence, Keith can see that right away, but their presence still makes his hand instinctively reach for the hilt of his sword.

He turns to leave and is starting to walk away when he hears one of the soldiers shouting after him. “Hey!” he calls out. “What are you staring at?!”

Keith doesn’t answer, instead he pulls his hood further down and keeps walking. The soldier calls out to him again, he hears footsteps start to follow him. “Hey! I’m talking to you! In the name of the Crown, I command you to stop!”

Keith has to tell himself to keep walking, despite almost every fiber in his body urging him to turn around and put the soldiers in their place - it wouldn’t be difficult. But he knows that Shiro would be disappointed if he did, so he doesn’t.

The soldiers keep throwing insults after him, he’s almost running now in order to keep himself ahead of them. He scans the streets, looking for a way to lose them without pulling more attention to himself. But before he can conduct any sort of plan, the soldiers behind him yell out to another pair of the Crown’s men patrolling further up the street. As they make their way towards him, the possibility for a non-violent solution to the situation becomes smaller and smaller.

Keith sighs, taking a firmer hold of his sword as he stops walking, letting the soldiers catch up to him. “Gentlemen,” he says dryly, still with his back turned. “I’m sure we can find a way out of this that doesn’t end with you all on the ground.”

“Is that a threat?” one soldier asks. “Because threatening a soldier of the Crown is very unwise.”

“Is that so?” Keith chuckles. “I’m not so sure. I could run laps around the four of you, no problem.”

He hears swords being drawn. “Yeah? Let’s see about that.”

When they charge forward, Keith doesn’t draw his sword. He ducks and tackles the man closest to him, shoving him into his friend. As they stumble, he charges at the two others, drawing his sword and slashing it through the air, colliding it with one of the soldier's.

If there is one thing Keith is good at, it’s sword fighting. Sure, Robin Hood is known for his archery, but Keith knows he isn’t the best out there. He was always drawn to the sword and excelled at it from the start. He’s fast and has always been able to calculate his next move on the go, which lends itself well to sword fights.

He disarms two of the soldiers and knocks one of them out by slapping the flat end of his sword to his temple. All of them are heavy and move slowly, he can tell which of them has consumed alcohol as well. He parries a blow and ducks under a swing, almost laughing with the ease he’s taking them down.

Then, the spell is broken. One of the soldiers manage to regain his balance and slashes at Keith, managing to slice open a gash in his upper right arm. Keith groans in pain, suddenly aware that he’s completely surrounded by the three soldiers still standing. He keeps his sword raised, temporarily relieved that the wound isn’t on his dominant arm. There’s a lot of blood streaming from the wound, he knows he has to get out quickly.

Keith was never good at running from a fight, but his body is pumping with adrenaline and he knows he won’t last long if he keeps fighting. The soldiers start closing in on him. “Running laps around us, are you?” one laughs mockingly. “I wonder what King Zarkon will think of your little stunt here. I reckon he’ll have you hanged before morning.”

“King Zarkon?” Keith laughs, unable to hold back. “Don’t be ridiculous. That man is as much a King as I am.”

“Treasonous words,” another soldier says. “Who are you, Robin Hood?”

Keith smirks, straightening his back and ignoring the aching pain in his arm. “The one and only.” The soldiers all look a little taken aback by that, so Keith takes advantage of their temporary hesitation and charges at them, pushing past them with his sword and starting to run towards the edge of the village. He hears the soldiers running after him, screaming profanities and what they’re going to do to him once they get hold of him.

He keeps running until he’s left the village and reached the outskirts of Sherwood Forest. He’s a lot faster than the soldiers, when he turns around he can hear their voices but can’t see them. He slides his sword into his scabbard and climbs up the closest tree, hoping that the leaves will hide him. He secures himself on a thick branch quite high up, leaning back against the trunk and drawing a breath for the first time in what feels like forever.

The soldiers appear at the bottom of the tree, Keith can barely see them through the leaves. The adrenaline is starting to leave his body, and the pain from the gash on his arm is getting stronger. He hears one of the soldiers point out that there’s blood on the ground, it must’ve dripped from his arm. They start shuffling about below him, he knows it won’t be long until they realise where he is.

_Swoosh._

_Swoosh._

_Swoosh._

Keith recognises the sound of arrows hitting their target and hears the collective groans below him. Someone’s come to his rescue. The relief washes over him and he almost falls from the branch, grabbing onto another branch just before.

He stays put for a while, not daring to move until he hears someone calling out for him. It’s Matt. “I’m up here,” he announces, starting to make his way down. It’s harder to get down now when the adrenaline has left him and he’s feeling all the pain from his wound.

Matt grabs him when he’s almost on the ground, helping him the rest of the way. “You look terrible,” he comments. “What happened?”

Keith looks around. The three soldiers that followed him are all on the ground, arrows sticking out of their chests. “Took a wrong turn,” he mutters. “My arm…”

“Oh shit.” Matt notices the wound and quickly goes to work on it, ripping the edge of his tunic and tying it hard around the area above the gash. “We need to get you back to camp,” he says, “Adam will fix you right up, I’m sure.”

“Yeah,” Keith says. He’s getting a little lightheaded from the blood loss, so he leans a little on Matt as they make their way back to camp. “How’d you find me?” he asks.

“I was on patrol and heard the ruckus,” Matt explains. “I saw you running and heard them screaming, so I figured you’d gotten yourself into trouble again.”

“You’re right about that,” Keith sighs. “I didn’t even mean to, they just started following me.”

“Well, they paid for that, didn’t they?” Matt shakes his head. “They never learn.”

“They really don’t.”

*

As soon as Shiro sees the state Keith is in, he rushes over. “I thought you said you were only going to do some handouts?!”

“I was!” Keith replies, pushing past him. “Where’s Adam?”

“In his tent.” Shiro follows him. “What happened?”

“I’ll tell you later, just leave me alone!” Keith says angrily. Not wanting to stay for Shiro to lecture him, he almost dives into Adam’s tent, knowing Shiro won’t follow.

Keith didn’t really know why Adam was part of the Merry Men. With the others, they often had clear reasons why they were there. Pidge and Matt’s parents were killed by Zarkon’s men; Ezor, Zethrid and Acxa are deserters from his army; Nadia and Kinkade were squires for knights that died trying to bring him down; Leifsdottir and James used to live in the village; Romelle and Allura escaped execution. But the only reason Keith could come up with for Adam’s being there is his connection to Shiro.

Adam and Shiro had met when they were young. Adam was the son of one of the knights in King Alfor’s army and Shiro was a squire. They fell in love, got engaged and when Shiro lost his arm, Adam became his carer. But something happened, Keith had never dared to ask for specifics, and they ended their engagement. They rarely spoke these days unless absolutely necessary and it was an unspoken rule to not ask questions. 

Yet, Adam was still here. He’s got some skill with a sword and a bow and arrow, but his primary role was as the healer and level head of the group. He stitched them all up when they got hurt, scolded them when they started getting carried away with their plans, and provided a sense of calm and structure most of them lacked.

Looking up from his book, Adam sighs when he sees Keith’s battered arm. “Come here.” He sits Keith down and examines the wound. “I can stitch this up, but you’re probably going to get an infection. No activities for at least a few days.”

Keith nods. “That’s horrible.”

“I know.” Adam starts cleaning the wound in silence, slowly stitching it up. “There we are. You’re free to go.”

“Thank you.” Keith stands up and immediately starts feeling dizzy, stars dancing in front of his eyes.

“I told you.” Adam stands up as well. “You’ll probably feel strange for a few days. Drink water and take things slow.”

“Yeah, yeah. Thanks again.” Keith leaves the tent and goes to sit down by the fire, there’s a pot hanging over it with some food left. He helps himself to some and eats in silence, wallowing in his own self pity.

He doesn’t notice Allura approaching until she sits down next to him. He doesn’t say anything, just nods to acknowledge her presence. She waits for him to finish his food before speaking. “What happened?”

Keith gives her a short recollection of what happened. Allura’s quiet as he speaks, only nodding at some parts. When he’s finished, she chuckles a bit. “Sounds like your ego carried you away a bit.”

“What makes you say that?”

She laughs louder now. “Are you kidding? You fought four soldiers because you felt you could’ve taken them all out. You could’ve just run away.”

Keith chuckles. “You sound like someone I know. But where would the fun in that be?”

“I suppose you’re right,” Allura smiles. “Just promise me one thing. Look after yourself. You’re more than just a soldier, it’s important that we keep the mystery of you alive. If the people believe you’re extraordinary, it’ll help keep opposition up.”

“I know.” Keith nudges her. “If they knew their princess was fighting for them, I’m sure they’d riot to reinstate you on the throne.”

“Maybe.” Allura’s face falls. “Too bad it cannot be.”

Keith instantly regrets bringing it up, he knows how sensitive the subject is for her. He knows she wants nothing more than to march into the village, declare herself the leader of the rebellion and take back her home. But they had all agreed that they were all safer if she stayed hidden. If Zarkon knew where to find her, he could send guards after them, but no one had yet dared step into Sherwood Forest unless they needed to.

“I’m sorry.” He reaches for her hand, giving it a comforting squeeze. “You’ll be back one day. You have my word on that.”

Allura squeezes back. “Thank you, Keith. You’re a good friend.”

They stay by the fire, soon joined by the others as Ezor starts cooking supper. The sun sets and James brings out his lute. They eat and sing, things feel oddly normal. 

Keith looks at all of them and if filled with emotion. He actually likes these people, he realises. He doesn’t just hang around them out of convenience, they mean something to him. It’s both comforting and horrifying. 

He thinks about other times he’s felt like this. His father. Shiro. It means he has people that care about him, but it also means he has something to lose. And he hates that feeling. It makes him feel vulnerable and weak. He’s lost before, he doesn’t want to lose again.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> thank you for reading!


	4. Lance

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Lance sneaks out.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey everyone! So, since I don't have much time or energy to write anymore I've decided that when I decide I want to write, I'm going to write. I've had a bad tendency to not finish fics I've started writing because I fall behind on writing and then feel like since I haven't updated in a while I might as well not write. But this fic is my little happy project, so I'm going to just post whenever I want to.
> 
> With that said, I hope you enjoy this chapter!

_ “Lance,” he laughs, lips curled into a smile _

_ “Lance,” he says, jaw clenched in annoyance _

_ “Lance,” he whispers, eyes filled with anticipation _

_ “Lance,” he breathes, heart slowly stopping _

The moon is shining in through Lance’s window, filling the room with pale blue light. He usually sleeps with the curtains closed, but tonight he kept them open.

It’s been several hours since Hunk said goodnight and retreated back to his own chambers for the night, but Lance hasn’t managed to drift off to sleep, he doesn’t even feel tired anymore. His mind is filled with thoughts, thoughts concerning the information Hunk came back with earlier that day.

He’d done as Lance had told him to, gone to the market to fetch bread and arrowheads, and had come down to the village just as four guards had chased a cloaked figure out towards Sherwood Forest. According to a conversation he’d overheard, the cloaked figure had been none other than Robin Hood himself. He’d fought the guards all alone, and none of them had returned from the Sherwood, the news of which had spread like wildfire through the village.

As Lance had predicted, not many were willing to give Hunk any answers to the questions he asked, no matter how casual they first appeared. The blacksmith had scoffed and charged extra for the arrowheads, and many had glared and spit after Hunk as he returned to the castle. One woman had been kind (or at the very least indifferent) and told Hunk that very few returned from Sherwood Forest alive.

Of course, Lance knew this. Ever since Prince Zarkon had taken over, he’d had a problem with pushing through the thick woods. Those who returned with their lives intact described their experience as haunting, how the Merry Men seemed to be everywhere and nowhere at once, how traps lured around every corner, not one the same as the other. Lance assumed that they probably exaggerated to make them seem less cowardly and thus escape any possible punishment.

The woman had also told Hunk that Robin Hood had been on one of his “rounds”, as she called them, distributing gold to the poor. It was something he did as often as he could, as he didn’t sit on the gold he stole himself. This was news to Lance, who until now had assumed that while Robin Hood was noble to steal from rich, evil men, he was also a greedy man to steal so much for himself. He wondered who this woman was, and what she could possibly think to gain by talking to Hunk when no one else would even meet his eye.

Lance wished he had a face to place on the cloaked figure. Robin Hood had been incredibly cautious about his image, no one knew for sure what he looked like. He’d heard everything from a blonde, blue-eyed prince to dark eyes and a grotesque appearance, face covered with scars. And of course, no villager would describe him. Suddenly, their unwavering loyalty to this mystery man made a little more sense to Lance.

His mind wandered from the cloaked archer to their incoming guest. Prince Lotor would arrive sometime the next day, the castle staff had been working themselves tired getting everything ready for his welcome feast. Prince Zarkon did not want to spare any expenses, so that meant everything had to be perfect.

The last time there’d been a feast in this castle, Lance had been inconsolable. Zarkon had just crowned himself King and held a ball in his own honor. The next day, Allura’s execution was scheduled. Lance had faked a smile the entire night, joining in on the festivities and the dances, even though he really just wanted to retreat to his chambers and not come out again. He’d cried tears of joy the morning after when they discovered that Allura had escaped. After that, two years of little festivity had followed. Lance assumed Zarkon didn’t want to let his guard down again, risking assassination attempts and the like.

Prince Lotor’s arrival worried Lance for more reasons than just the fact that they never got along. Lotor had a scary ability to see through people and notice when they were lying. He didn’t need much, only a look or an unrested stance. If this still held true, it wouldn’t take him long to see through Lance’s disguise and send him to the gallows.

Lance hears a chirping sound, and the next second there’s a soft thud at his feet. Blue purrs and makes her way up Lance’s bed by walking up his legs and torso, eventually getting to his face. Her blue eyes and white fur shine in the moonlight, and Lance relaxes a little bit. Blue was getting older, she wasn’t as energetic as she once was, but her ability to calm him was as strong as ever.

She rubs her head against Lance’s cheek and he scratches her behind the ear, earning louder purrs. “At least I can count on you, girl,” he smiles, kissing her head. He was already fearing the day when she’d eventually be gone. Especially now, when he had only the cat and Hunk for comfort, losing half of his support network made it a little difficult to breathe.

Almost by itself, his hand reached for the drawer in his bedside table, pulling it out and grabbing the piece of paper inside. The paper was worn out and rough around the edges for being handled so much, so Lance tried to be careful as he sat up in his bed and lit the candle on the bedside table, to be able to read the letter he’d read so many times before.

**_Dear Lance,_ **

**_We have just had our first encounter with our enemies, after several weeks of travel. Many lives were lost, but we took more than we lost and won the battle. Of course, there are more battles to come if we want to reclaim what was ours, so no one is waving the flags of victory quite yet. I sustained a rather unflattering cut to the cheek, but it wasn’t deep and the field medics are telling me that it will not be a threat to my life, I’ll just not be quite the man you remember me as, since I’ll unfortunately have a quite visible scar. But I consider myself lucky, I’m way better off than a lot of my fellow soldiers._ **

**_I am not quite sure where we are at the moment, but somewhere just off the French eastern border, since we had many French soldiers join our ranks in the recent weeks (who ever thought that would ever happen?). Our main concern now is tending to the wounded and see whom we can save, I think King Alfor wants to spare as many as possible a cruel fate. You know that I’ve always had my doubts about our King, but during these travels he has shown what a leader he is, at the very least on the battlefield._ **

**_I miss you every waking moment, my heart aches to be back by your side again. Some days I wish I had stayed behind with you, I often wonder what our lives would have looked like then. I have the letters you sent me in the inside pocket of my uniform, they make me feel closer to you. I want this war to be over quickly, so I can come home to you. I hope everything is good at home. I will write again as soon as I’m able and hope to hear from you very soon._ **

**_Most Faithfully Yours,_ **

**_Keith_ **

The letter was short and stained in several places, it was obvious it had been written by someone in a hurry with dirty fingers.

This letter had arrived more than a year ago. Lance had sent several letters after it arrived, and had tried to rationalise receiving none in return by assuring himself that the reason he hadn’t received any more letters from Keith was because of Zarkon, who’d tried to put a total blockade along the southern English border, in order to stop any information about his treason getting through to King Alfor. But in his heart, he knew it was more than that, especially since most letters entering England were delivered to their destination, but next to no letters were sent from England abroad.

Keith was dead. He knew it, and it pained him every day to think that he’d have to live out the rest of his days without ever seeing Keith’s face again. How we was going to do that, he wasn’t sure.

Lance had never understood what drew men to war. He practised the bow and arrow, sure, but only at targets, never living humans or even animals. He wasn’t cut out for hunting or fighting, he’d known that from an early age. The thought of purposely taking a life made him feel sick to his stomach, and the concept of war only baffled and disgusted him. And now, he hated war even more, because it had taken Keith from him.

Keith. Beautiful, charming and wonderful Keith. Raised with a sword from an early age, what else was he supposed to do? He was lucky enough to get a position as a Page, and had been brought up following the Knight’s Code. They’d had many arguments about this, since Lance believed war was the stain on mankind, while Keith saw it as a necessary evil to keep the world in balance. And of course, stubborn and loyal as he was, there had barely been a question about whether he was going to join Alfor on his quest.

And now, he was gone. Lance often dreamed of him, too often about him dying. He’d seen him die in so many different ways: pierced by an arrow; stabbed with a sword; head cut off; bleeding out in a battlefield filled with other dead bodies. He’d probably never quite stop imagining how the love of his life was taken from this world and brought to the next.

Lance recalled their last conversation, just as they were preparing to leave. Lance didn’t cry often, but on that day he’d been fighting them from the moment he woke up at the break of dawn in Keith’s little cottage. There was a ceremony around midday, where the court bid farewell and good luck to their King and his soldiers, and as Lance had watched Keith put on his armour, he hadn’t been able to stop himself.

_ “You don’t have to go,” he’d mumbled, just loud enough for Keith to hear. _

_ Keith had sighed and closed his eyes. “We’ve had this conversation, Lance. I do have to go. It’s my duty to my country.” _

_ “I know, I know,” Lance said. “But what about your duty to me?” What he’d said was selfish, but he’d felt like he was being torn apart from the inside and had to let something out. _

_ “Do you think I want to leave you?” Keith snapped. “Don’t you know that leaving you is tearing me apart?” He fastened his cape, the last piece of his armour, and walked over to the chair where Lance was sitting and knelt in front of him, taking his hands. “Don’t make this harder than it already is, for both of our sakes.” _

_ “I’m sorry,” Lance mumbled, squeezing Keith’s hands softly. “I just don’t want you to leave and never return. I don’t think I could bare it.” _

_ Keith brought Lance’s hands to his lips and kissed them. “I know. I’m scared too. But I am not going to stop fighting until I’m back here with you. I’ll win this war for us, and then I’ll come back to you.” _

_ Lance’s eyes had filled with tears, making his vision blurry. He couldn’t help himself. “Promise me.” _

_ “What?” _

_ “You have to promise to come back to me.” _

_ Keith had looked at him as a tear ran down his cheek, Lance could tell he was having an inner discussion with himself. But finally, he let out a breath and said, “I promise. I promise I will come back to you.” _

Lance had cursed himself for that conversation many times over the past two years. He’d been selfish to ask that much of Keith, and he’d been punished for it. Keith hadn’t been able to fulfill his promise, and Lance had to live with the consequences of that, since Keith was dead and probably buried in a mass grave somewhere in the east, far away from his home and those who loved him.

Blue softly purrs in his lap, pulling him back into reality. He puts the letter back in the drawer and gets out of bed. He pulls on some clothes and a hooded cloak before sneaking out of his room and down the stairs of his tower as slowly and quietly as he can.

Lance tries to stay hidden in the shadows as he makes his way towards the little gate behind the castle, which leads out on a trail to the village. Surprisingly, no one os guarding the gate and he couldn’t spot anyone up on the wall either, which Lance thinks is odd. From the beginning, Zarkon had been very strict when it came to guarding the castle, since he was paranoid that someone might try to overthrow him. Since no one had tried yet, perhaps he’d loosened the security a little.

Lance barely has any time to dwell on that thought before he does notice a guard up on the wall, making his round towards where he is. Quickly, he rushes over to the gate and thanks his lucky star that the key to it is still hanging on the wall, just out of sight and out of reach for those on the outside. He unlocks the gate and slips out into the darkness.

The Nottingham Church is located in the outskirts of the community, the belltower can be spotted above the trees from across the village. Lance has only been there a handful of times, since the court receives private services and he’s never had the strongest connection to his faith anyway. But maybe the man to help him with his troubles was none other than the old Friar.

He bangs on door to the little cottage next to the Church, hoping to wake the Friar up. He feels a little bad about showing up in the middle of the night, but he’s going to have a tough time trying to justify a random visit to the Church to Zarkon, who he’d unfortunately told he had no connection to God - one of the many sins he’d committed over the years.

Finally, he hears shuffling behind the door and it opens, revealing a disheveled man with a rather funny-looking moustache. “What is it at this hour?” the Friar asks, holding up a candle to get a proper look at his visitor. “Oh. Lord Lancelot,” he says, unable to mask his surprise, “what brings you here?”

“I-” Lance’s tongue is suddenly caught in his throat. “I- I’m having some trouble with guilt. I’m afraid I’ve committed many sins, Brother Coran. I’m very sorry to wake you up at this hour, but I wouldn’t have been able to come at another time.”

Friar Coran looks at him with a suspicious look, which Lance can’t really blame him for. King Alfor’s treacherous ward on his doorstep in the middle of the night, what was he supposed to think? He’s silent for a moment, before stepping aside. “Come inside.”

“Thank you so much,” Lance says as he stepped inside, trying to make it abundantly clear how grateful he is.

“It is my job to meet with all who seek my guidance,” Coran says simply, putting some firewood into the dying fire in his fireplace. “Have a seat.”

The Friar’s cottage only had one room. In one corner, there’s an unmade bed, and in the other is the fireplace the Friar was currently tending to. There’s also a small cabinet, where Lance can see the Friar’s uniform sticking out, and a simply made table with room for only two chairs in the third corner, where Lance takes a seat. The cottage is so different from what he was used to, and he feels a little ashamed when he reflects on how well of he was.

“Now,” says the Friar, having properly revived the fire, “what seems to be the matter, milord?”

“Well,” Lance says, taking a breath. “I’ve had some trouble with my morality recently. Well, not recently, for a while actually. I lie on the daily and I feel so guilty.”

“What is it that you lie about?” asks the Friar calmly.

“Uh…” Was it safe to talk about this here? “This conversation stays between us, right? You won’t tell a soul I was here?”

“Not unless you want me to, milord,” answers the Friar.

“Okay. Well, um…” Lance takes a deep breath. “I’m not really on Prince Zarkon’s side. I only pretended to be because I was a coward and couldn’t stand up to him like Princess Allura. And now she’s gone and I’m stuck with him, terrified that he’s going to figure me out any second when I don’t have a way out.”

Friar Coran nods slowly, barely betraying any emotions. “I see. Is there more?”

Lance clears his throat. “Yes, actually. Before the war, I was in love with someone, but he left for the war. And before he left, I made him promise to come back, and now I’m sure he’s dead and I made him make a promise he could never know if he could keep. He had a point of never making promises he couldn’t keep, and I’m afraid I’m being punished because I forced him to compromise his morals.”

“Okay,” says the Friar. “Firstly, I’m very surprised by all of this. It can’t have been easy for you to pretend all this time.”

“No, it hasn’t been.”

“Have you ever felt regret about taking this path? You mentioned Princess Allura, would you rather have joined her if you got to do it again?”

“I think so. She did what was right, and I envy her for it. I just wish I could make things right, I know she despised me for what I did.”

“Well, you can’t change the past,” says the Friar. “So, my advice to you would be to try and honor the Princess now. I shouldn’t say this, really, but there are talks in the village about overthrowing the Prince and restore Princess Allura to the throne. If you could be a part of that, that would at least be one way to try and make up for your wrongdoings.”

“Thank you, Brother,” says Lance. “But what about the forced promise?”

“I don’t think you are being punished for that. You might be being punished for other things, but I see this as a coping mechanism, which I never fault people for. We all want our loved ones to be safe, and that was a way for you to that, since if he’s promised to come back, and he always keeps his promises, he’ll come back, right? I can’t know if he wouldn’t have died if he hadn’t made that promise, because wars are unpredictable and all who fight them are at risk of dying.”

“I suppose so. I just regret forcing him to make that stupid vow.”

“Well, you said he never makes a promise he can’t keep, right? From what I gather, he could have told you no if he really was so steadfast in his beliefs. Maybe that promise was a way for him to cope with leaving you, maybe that promise was his driving force.”

“Maybe. I never thought of it that way.” Lance smiles a bit. “Thank you, Friar. I’m sorry again for waking you up in the middle of the night, but this is really the only time of night that I’m able to come here without raising suspicion.”

Friar Coran chuckles. “You don’t think coming here in the middle of the night is suspicious?”

“Well, no one saw me,” chuckles Lance. “So, I haven’t raised any yet at least.”

When Lance leaves the Friar’s cottage, the darkness is still there to help him sneak his way back to the castle. He knows that he’s made a reckless decision tonight, but when he lays down in his bed, with Blue purring down by his feet, his conscience is a little lighter and his path forward a little clearer. If only his heart would become a little less broken.

**Author's Note:**

> thank you for reading!


End file.
